Shades of the Past
by Nikapi
Summary: An unfamiliar face brings news of apocolypse to the scoobies, along with some hard truths about the /real/ way the world, and time itself, functions. /Majorly/ AU. Rating subject to change.
1. Prologue

Title: Shades of the Past  
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, trust me, I would not be writing fan fiction about them, rather, I'd be making them dance for my amusement. They belong to Joss, ME, Fox, blah bliddy blah.. Bottom line is, I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me.  
Notes: This is my first attempt at a chaptered story, and I'm scared. Please, please, review and let me know if I'm anywhere near the right track, so far. Anyway - a few notes. This story is set about 2400 years into the future, and in December, 2001. I cannot even begin to stress of how much of an alternate universe this story is set in. Seriously. Some characters aren't going to turn up. Notably, Dawn, Anya and Spike. Possibly no Tara, but I LOVE her, so she might pop up, if I can find a place for her. Sorry 'bout that. They just didn't fit. It'll explain itself soon. Read it? Pretty, pretty please?  
  
--  
  
There is no dispute amongst the higher beings that mortals are funny creatures. Human mortals, especially, and those linked closely to them. Vampires, hybrids. Capable of both unfathomable good and unspeakable evil, light and dark -- no other mortal creatures have that range, that subconscious freedom to chose paths.  
  
In the history of humankind, there have been many, countless, great heroes. There have also been countless villains, unworthy of the title 'man' This cannot change -- it is the only constant in the world of humans, that lack of consistency -- for them, even death can be avoided if one knows the right ways of going about the details.  
  
The villains are, pretty much, inconsequential to my people. They come and they go and, most often, they corrupt themselves and bring their own downfall. We watch them, but with very mild interest.  
  
It is the heroes, the true champions of mankind, that my kind and I are interested in. We study them, watch their lives. Sometimes we plan their lives for them, if the situation calls for it, but I'll get to that later.  
  
Before I go further, let me make the difference between a hero and a champion clear. Anyone can be a hero. A firefighter rushing into a burning building is a hero - a teenager carrying a hurt child home is a hero. Obviously, one man who dies so another may live is a hero. Heroes can be everyday people who do good things. Champions are different. They're those who've given their lives over, consciously or not, to making the world better, safer. They die not so one may live, but so all may live, and do things most humans don't, and shouldn't, do. They're much rarer, but in no way any more important than the humblest of heroes. Both are on the same level of existence, the only difference is, they do different things. The world would be a miserable place without either. Anyway.  
  
Through watching them, heroes and champions alike, we've slowly realized something - heroes and champions both tend to end up drawn to each other, forming groups. Though the numbers vary greatly through history, a quick look through the past will reveal some very interesting patterns. Three, seven, five, nine -- numerical powerhouses, it seems, when the time comes that mortals must band together against a common foe, physical or otherwise.  
  
You're probably wondering who I am, by now. I can assure you, compared to others, I'm no one important. You can call me Aaron. My actual name's very difficult to pronounce - even I stumble over it at times..  
  
I've seen them all, those groups of mortals, come and go. More than once, actually, but that'll get explained later, too. I've seen their births and their deaths. Some are more interesting than others, not because of the good they accomplish, but because of the patterns they create, and the interactions they have with one another.   
  
We, my kind, we all have our favorite groups, and tend to follow their doings more closely than those of the others, regardless of when in history they turn up. My personal favorite tends to get overlooked by the rest of my kind, for one reason or another. Probably because of the fact that their lives aren't lived like the lives of other up in the spotlight champions, but humbly, instead, like everyone else. To be honest, they don't even really all qualify as 'champions,' exactly. Heroes, yes, but not champions. That's another thing I like about them - five of them are definable champions of light, good, justice, all whatever else you'd like to associate with the position. The original five, to be more precise. The rest of them just tag along for the ride, and you'd expect them to be a little less enthralled with the idea of saving humanity every other day. Here's the kicker: They aren't. That's why, on top of respecting them - the whole bunch, not just the champions - I really like them. They do it just to do it, not because the higher beings decided they were going to live to defend before they were born.  
  
Really, they're just a ragtag bunch of kids - a few witches, a few half demons, a vampire or two, a werewolf, several with no more supernatural abilities than any John Doe off the street, and, oh yes, a Vampire Slayer.  
  
Actually, you might have heard of them.  
  
I've watched them their entire lives, though they don't know it. I'm about to pull them into something almost above my comprehension. For the first time in 8000 years, I have no idea how things are going to work out. It's sort of fun.   
  
If they succeed, for the first time since 400 BC, absolutely nothing will happen.  
  
Don't worry. You'll see what I mean, soon enough. 


	2. "Suck my blood, kill my friends."

Disclaimer: Buffy & company - still not mine. Alas.  
  
Nothing abnormal contained, besides what's intended. _Thoughts_, and **stressed words**. There are some funky pairings contained, though they aren't as obvious now as they will be later.. They'll become more noticeable next chapter, and thereafter. They're somewhat unusual. I know that. It's in purpose. Expect very little, if any, cannon plots for at least a few chapters.  
  
--  
December 3rd, 2000  
Sunnydale Memorial Cemetery  
2:00 AM   
--  
  
_Toss. Flip. Catch. Toss. Flip. Catch. _  
  
It's not that Buffy Summers wasn't paying attention to her surroundings, that'd be asking for trouble of the violent kind. She was just a bit more interested in breaking her current record at flipping her stake midair, then catching it. She'd gotten to 87 the previous night before being **very **rudely interrupted by a fledgling with a serious attitude problem. Her record was 96. She was **going **to beat it.  
  
_Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…  
_  
She'd probably have been home already, but the full moon the night before had awakened an unusual amount of under worldly types, and Giles had been set a bit on edge. 'Things have been a bit quieter than usual, lately,' the Watcher had said, halfway through a training session, 'And it'd be for the best, I think, if you might extend the patrol route a bit for the next few days.' She'd agreed, privately - vamps were a pain when they were out and about, but let them vanish for a few days, and they were almost universally a real nightmare when they turned up again. If their return happened to coincide with a full moon, that was just plain dangerous - but, of course, she verbally reminded him that she did have assignments, and presents to buy, and friends to see, and generally a lot of things to do that **didn't **end with her covered in dust and slime.   
  
_Sixty-three, sixty-four…  
_  
The slight whining had worked, though Giles had been grudging to give in. The slayer, for the first time in several weeks, was taking an official night off. Angel would cover patrol - she knew that, and Willow would probably go with, as usual. Oz was wolf-sitting this month, so he was off the hook. That left her and Xander, who definitely wouldn't be up for Scooby activities, anyway. Convenient. Buffy wasn't complaining. All she had to do was get through the rest of patrol, and the following night, and she was promised one night of complete normal-girl relaxation.  
  
Several yards behind her, moving without, he was sure, any sound, a dark figure crept towards the slayer, fangs bared. She had no idea he was there… just a few more steps, and he'd do what so many of his kind had tried for the last five years: kill the slayer. The stories that circulated the vampire world about the girl were intimidating, to say the least, each one growing more improbable than the last. For the life of him, though, he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Here he was, a few scant feet from dinner, and she had no idea of his presence. One more step, and -  
  
"I think it's customary to be **quiet **when stalking your prey."  
  
The vampire blinked at the back of her head, startled. Was she talking to him?  
  
_Seventy-six, Seventy-seven…_  
  
With a sigh, Buffy turned, facing her stalker with a somewhat superior smirk. "You," she began, accusingly, still mindlessly flipping her stake, "Were trying to sneak up on me."  
  
"Well…yeah."  
  
"Does the term 'elephant stampede' mean anything to you? No, wait. Lemme guess," Adopting a bored tone, she went on, "You were gonna suck my blood, kill my friends, eat my family, take over Sunnydale, blah blah blah. Look, it's old. It's **boring**. What's your name?"  
  
"Jacob," He allowed, after a moment, still a bit bewildered.  
  
"Jacob. How Long have you been in town, Jacob?"  
  
"Just a few weeks, I was, uh, from San Francisco, orrigi - Hey!" Jacob stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes at the blond slayer and taking a few menacing steps forward. "You're trying to stall me. Scared, Slayer?"  
  
"Not really. Hey, stop moving! Wait a minute. Ninety-eight. Ninety-Nine. One hundred. **Hah**! I knew I could do it. Catch." Moving faster than he was able to follow, Buffy caught the stake on it's final downwards descent, but instead of tossing it upwards again, she snapped her wrist, releasing it and embedding it deep in Jacob's chest. Numbly, he looked down, blinking once at the piece of wood.  
  
"Sh -"  
  
Buffy coughed, making a futile attempt to wave the dust out of her face, before giving up. As she moved past the pile of what was Jacob, she scooped her stake up, tucking it into her pocket. She broke her record, dusted a few vamps, and gave good thought to what kind of ice cream she wanted for breakfast. Patrol was definitely over.  
  
--  
December 3rd, 2000  
Unknown  
2:45 AM  
--  
  
He frowned. The original few discrepancies, he could ignore. They happened sometimes. But lately, the situation was growing more severe. Very little was as it should have been. He did not know what that meant, but he knew he didn't like it.  
  
It would bear further study. 


	3. "We'll never see him again."

Disclaimer: Not mine, Joss, ME, Fox, blah blah, whatever. I'm gonna get tired of putting this in every chapter REAL fast, I think.  
  
Major love to Kimber, who emailed me about an hour after chapter two went up, having picked out how Xander, Buffy, Willow, Angel, and Oz's lives are different in this AU just by what's in Chapter 2. I'm seriously impressed, and Kim, when you figure out how I'm going to decide this will end, please let me know - I'm not sure, yet ;) Also some shout-outs to Mims (And yes, Xander is very excellent, even without powers. And yet…) Pikawhore, and Zac for the reviews. Mmm...reviews. They're like crack. I pray I'll eventually be at the point where I have too many to individually thank people, but till then, I **LOVE **you guys. Also - my Beta reader is going to Europe for a semester very shortly, leaving me left alone with my grammar and spelling. If anyone who reads this would be willing to save my life three million times over, PLEASE email me. I'm helpless. Really. Anyway. On with the show. _Words _= thoughts. **Words **= stressed. Nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
--  
December 5th, 2000  
The Magic Box  
6:15 PM  
--  
  
"Explain to me, again, why, on our night off, you and I are here, selling slug candles."  
  
Xander Harris, diligently sorting through a large box of very smelly herbs, glanced quickly in the direction of the cast register, a lazy half smile spreading across his face. "Because, Buf, Giles has us very well trained. And he wanted to go with Jenny to Em's checkup. And **you **sent everyone else to rest up before patrol."  
  
"Well," Buffy huffed, prodding at one of the machine's buttons sullenly, "We should be out doing something nice. Like seeing a movie. Or making out on your couch. Or doing **anything **but this."  
  
"There is a couch in the training room…"  
  
Making a face at him, Buffy dismissed the joking suggestion, though much to Xander's amusement, a blush rose in her cheeks, and a grin tugged the corners of her lips upwards. Her attention, however, drifted over towards the only other person in the store - a man, about her age, she wagered, who had been, apparently, fascinated with a display of books in a language she definitely didn't speak.  
  
_Check me out. Good saleswoman girl. Buffy the sales slayer._  
  
"Sir, do you need any help?"  
  
He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice, then turned, offering a vaguely sheepish smile. "Thank you, but no. I'm just looking." Their eyes met, and Buffy was struck with a very faint sense of déjà vu, looking at him. She was sure she'd recognize him, if she had met him before. He looked, and there was no other word for it, wholesome. Like he belonged on a farm, somewhere. He had a nice smile; slightly shaggy brown hair fall into his eyes, which particularly struck her as familiar - light blue, and, she thought, guarded.  
  
_Nice arms, _the slayer noted, idly, _Those are -good- arms to have._  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Xander watching him with the same slightly bewildered expression that she was sure she, herself, wore. Unlike her, however, Xander scoped the man out in more than one way, sniffing the air so slightly that, had she not known him so well, she wouldn't have noticed. The abrupt darkening of his expression wasn't quite so subtle, nor was the suspicious narrowing of his eyes. She spotted it easily - and so did the mystery man. His reaction to the patented Xander-Glower, which had been known to cause even Angel to hesitate, surprised her as well. If he found it odd at the dark-haired man across the room was suddenly staring daggers at him, he didn't show it, instead he nodded slightly in Xander's direction, as if he had expected it.  
  
"Mm-hmm. Good day to you both." His tone was cordial, but careful, as he nodded again, then crossed to the door in long strides, stepped out onto the street and, for the time being, out of their lives.  
  
The moment the bell jangled and the door shut, Buffy turned on her heel, staring at Xander expectantly. "So what was that?"  
  
"He smelled funny. Not…wrong, exactly, not like a demon. Just funny. He's human. I think. But something's not right." Xander shook his head, trying to place what was off about the man's scent.  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. She trusted Xander when it came to that sort of thing, it came with werewolf territory. He and Angel, both, were generally very good at picking out demons and vampires out by scent, though for Xander it had taken some practice. But, then, She was also able to pinpoint the non-human variety of people easily, herself. And he had seemed perfectly human, right and all, to her. Still…in five years of knowing Xander, she hadn't often seen him grow that hostile that fast before. "Well, he didn't buy anything, and he didn't seem demonish, so it probably doesn't matter. Chances are, we'll never see him again."  
  
Shrugging, Xander returned to the box he had been organizing, nodding silent agreement. In the back of his mind, however, a tiny voice commanded him to memorize the way that man smelled, and the goose bumps on his arm, present since the moment he really **looked **at whoever-he-was, unnerved him. No matter. Buffy was right, really. They'd probably never see him again. "So, Buffy. It's almost closing. About that couch…"  
  
"Give a sec to lock the front door."  
  
--  
December 5th, 2000  
Richard Wilkins Memorial Cemetery  
12:48 AM  
--  
  
"Slow night," Willow observed, casually perched one of the solid granite steps leading up towards the mausoleum she and Angel were staking out.  
  
Angel nodded, toying with the dagger tucked into his belt. "Usually is, after the full moon. We could probably head in early, if you feel like it. Obviously, there isn't a whole lot going on here, tonight."  
  
Yawning, Willow straightened, rubbing a kink out of neck absently. "Now that I wasn't the first one to suggest it, lets go. It's not like Buffy and Xander stay out as late as they say they do every night, either. Your apartment or my dorm?"  
  
"You know your roommate scares me."  
  
"Yeah, she scares me, too. Come protect me, you man, you."  
  
They walked in silence to the campus of Sunnydale University, fingers interlaced, simply enjoying each other's company. It wasn't often enough they were alone together in a non-slaying capacity. But then, few of the 'Scooby gang' ever got the tranquil time they deserved.  
  
A single other student loitered in the dormitory hallway, seemingly studying a flyer tacked to a bulletin board. He glanced at Angel and Willow as they passed, only long enough for Angel to get a decent glance at him - brownish blond hair, blue eyes, and a stance just a little too carefully casual to be natural. There was something off about the boy, the vampire decided, turning his head slightly to look again, once they had passed him. He smelled odd. Not odd enough to be of any worry. He was probably just drunk.  
  
Willow pulled him inside her room, and any thoughts given to the drunken boy were left outside as the door swung shut.  
  
A moment later, the being inhabiting the body of Riley Finn memorized the number of the room the pair had just gone into, then walked down the hall in the opposite direction. 


End file.
